


The old lady

by Rosenovel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fiction, poetic story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23032984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosenovel/pseuds/Rosenovel
Summary: Meeting an old friend before it's time to go.





	The old lady

such a poor woman   
such a sad situation  
such a terrible juxtaposition; how her smile reveals her sadness rather than disguising it.

It's in her eyes, how they shift downward avoiding the faces around; it's in that slight laugh she delivers, pushed out like a tearful choke; it's in her hands tightly clenched together resting on her lap in a puedo-polite fashion. 

Oh, how skilled she was, before, at showing only happiness and joy, optimism to the point of ostensible ignorance. She could muddle through with all the rest, with an easy smile, cool relaxed features, a booming prideful laugh. 

Oh how beautiful, how wonderful, how exciting yet calming she was. She could control all, though all hated her because of it. She knew which people to heed, which to ignore, and which to skillfully laugh off as though they were a joke, independent of whether society saw them as one or not. She never actually possessed that overly confident spirit she portrayed, she would sometimes admit to me. She sometimes felt depression strike her suddenly and unpredictably like thunder, and leave her to try and cover the corpse of her joy with nothing but a cloth of illusion that is thin and torn from being stretched so far. 

Last week I saw her, we walked down the boulevard chewing gum and talking about the stars and the beach, shoes and dreams, when she said that her feet were aching- how she loved her aching feet- and asked that we rest a moment. we sat on an old wooden bench that was illuminated on one side and shaded on the other, she sat and leaned back flexing her arms and legs then she flopped her head over the back wooden planks and closed her eyes. I sat next to her and took out a book from my knapsack and began to read. five minutes later I looked up to her, in a curious fashion, and saw that she had fallen asleep in the position she sat in. For a moment I noticed how peacefully angelic she looked when highlighted by the sun. But then she spoke, and though her eyes were still closed I whipped my head back to my book.

"Randolph," she said.

"Yes, what is it?" 

"The plains of my mind are scattered with bodies now, I see them every time I close my eyes."

I didn't respond, I didn't know how.

"I don't think I have any more space, but it's not so bad anymore. I don't trip over them at least."

"What would you do if you did?"

"Get back up I suppose."  
It sounded more like a question from her lips. She wanted an answer.

"When you get back up, I'll be there to help you." This was all I could promise her. After everything, it was all I could do. 

"Mmm, I think I would like that." She smiled and sighed; and as she sighed her whole body dipped low on the bench and her chest rose and dropped purposely. She opened her eyes, looked up to me, and smiled.

I was happy, I realized, sitting there in the quietude of the suburban sidewalk, on that old wooden bench, next to her. I realized too, that she was also happy, but not in the way I was. I suddenly felt very tired and a bit melancholy; but it was a strange kind of sadness because I still felt happy. It was so very confusing, contradicting, and tiring. She doesn't see this moment the way I do; but she was happy, I was happy, and we were happy together, so I looked back at her and smiled.   
She sighed again, and looked up to the tree. I looked up too. 

"Randolph," she said.

"Yes?"

"How are you, Randolph?"

"I am fine, my dear. Are you ready to go?"

"No, not yet. I feel very comfortable, lying here right now. maybe tomorrow we'll leave, but not now."

"Mmm, tomorrow then. I'll come for you in the morning. When you're ready to leave." 

"Boy! I said we'll leave! We not me!"

"Yes, and by we you obviously mean you and your resting feet."  
I shrugged my shoulders as she laughed. 

"Oh you're no good! You think you're so smart! Just go, I'm better off by myself. It's much better company!"

"Tomorrow then?"

"Yes," she promised. "Tomorrow,"

I walked back home in that cool evening wind.  
The next day when I got ready to leave, she wasn't there.

I left New York without seeing her again, and I wouldn't have come back; but I came back yesterday, when I heard that the child had died.


End file.
